


achilles come down

by banksoflochlomond



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination Attempt(s), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Iroh (Avatar) loves Tea, Latent Suicidal Ideation, M/M, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai straight up wants Zuko dead, Protective Sokka (Avatar), The Jasmine Dragon (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko throws in the towel and makes tea, and Zuko is not unaware of that, but then he throws in the tea towel and trains Aang, listen it's small but it is definitely there and you should know that, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24872791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banksoflochlomond/pseuds/banksoflochlomond
Summary: Prince Zuko and General Iroh are dead. Their bodies will be declared unrecoverable, considering the incredible pressure and heat of the explosion, and funeral arrangements are made before the messenger hawk even reaches Fire Lord Ozai.Zuko and Iroh are very much dead.And Mushi and Li begin their lives in the Earth Kingdom.(Zuko is the target of assassination attempts during exile, due to orders from his father. By the time Aang gets out of the iceberg, he is dead. But Aang, Katara, Sokka and Toph have several run-ins with Li, a tea shop server with a scar on his face and a deep disdain for the Fire Nation.)
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 144
Kudos: 1900





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by aloneintherain's fantastic au story, [lessons in tea making](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20648324/chapters/49033349), so please check that out if you haven't been able to, yet!
> 
> Iodine poisoning is a thing, but like...how effective that thing is, I have no idea, man. If you're gonna poison someone, go for arsenic and wear old lace while you do it.

It started with a bowl of rice two weeks after Zuko is banished.

There were still dressings around his left eye, the gauze and bandages pressed tightly against the outward borders of the forming scar tissue. The medic onboard Zuko’s warship mildly suggested taking off the dressings and letting the wound breathe, but Zuko had pressed his nails into the bottom ridge of his scar and reared back, saying that he didn’t think it was a good idea, yet. The medic didn’t press him at all, just nodded and packed up his meager supply bag.

Zuko figured that was because the medic, just like everyone else, wouldn’t want to stare at a disfigured face if he didn’t have to.

The bowl was left outside of Zuko’s door after he awoke from a thin and uneasy nap. The cook usually gave Zuko food like this, having realized that Zuko hardly ever showed up at the mess, or anywhere else, for that matter. In the two weeks since--since  _ everything, _ and since setting sail, Zuko hardly budged from his room, only ever venturing out to Uncle’s room when Iroh was particularly insistent.

Zuko lacked energy, after his injury. Most of the time, he stared at the corrugated metal ceiling of his small, cramped, swaying ship quarters, and wished that the waves could seep in through the vent systems and swallow him whole, fill up his mouth and nose with saltwater and make his brain heavy and sick with no air and chopping waves until his eyes closed for good.

Maybe then, at least, he could get a decent night’s sleep.

Zuko picked up the bowl and the chopsticks from the threshold of his quarters, and shuffled over to the little card table that Uncle had set up in the corner of his room, originally meant for meditation, but now mainly used as a makeshift dining table. The rice was soaked in an odd kind of sauce-paste--it was a hot, spicy, salty taste, so overwhelming that Zuko set his chopsticks down and swished around the rice in his mouth. 

It tasted--off. He sniffed at the steaming bowl, and underneath the heavy spices and salt, there was a familiar, coarse, metallic smell. 

Zuko reached up with trembling fingers and ripped off the edge of a piece of gauze that had been soaked in iodine and water, in a sad attempt to reduce skin inflammation between his scar tissue and edge of his skin.

He sniffed at the material, and then inhaled the odd scent coming from the bowl.

The rice turned to ash in his mouth.

Zuko spit it all back into the bowl, gasping, and then stuck two fingers down his throat, even though he can’t remember whether he actually swallowed anything. His good eye throbbed and ached with streaming tears. Zuko’s mouth fills with bile and acid and he spits it out into the bowl, too, and lets out a loud, throaty gasp. He threw the bowl off the card table and it slammed against the metal wall with a dull thud, and Zuko got up, started to pace, and wiped hard at his good eye with the heels of his palms.

“Fuck,” Zuko whispered, and then again, louder:  _ “Fuck!” _

As if there were a cue, there’s a loud knock against Zuko’s door. Zuko flinched back instinctively, and then lunged for his dao, hanging up on the rack next to his bed.

“Zuko?” Uncle called, and Zuko bit down on his cheek, lowered the dao. “Prince Zuko, what happened?”

Zuko cleared his throat, but it still felt ravaged and raw from stomach acid. He sighed, and looked at the rice bowl again.

Someone had tried to poison him.

His crew had tried to  _ poison him. _

He hadn’t even--he hadn’t talked to anyone, no one knew him, and they tried to  _ poison  _ him--

And suddenly he was taken back, years ago, clutching a pillow and his knife to his chest, telling himself  _ Azula always lies, _ but Azula wasn’t here right now. All Zuko had was a weeks-old burn scar and a shitty warship and a caring but lazy uncle and a crew who, guessing by the rice splattered against his walls, didn’t really like him very much.

Zuko snorted, almost hysterically.

“Prince Zuko--” Uncle said, the door creaking open, and then stopped. He looked at Zuko, then the upturned rice bowl, and Zuko’s white-knuckled grip on his dao. 

His face darkened.

“I see,” he said, and then, when Zuko’s shoulders started to shake, “Oh, Zuko,” and Zuko threw himself into Uncle’s arms, his eye starting to stream with tears again.

***

Uncle took care of the cook, and interrogated the rest of the crew for days afterward.

But it doesn’t stop the next attempt from happening.

***

There’s a shadowed figure with a knife in Zuko’s quarters, one night. Zuko fought him off with his swords alone, until Uncle came and dragged the figure out. Zuko never asked what happened to the assassin, and Uncle never told him.

There were sharpshooters at ports sometimes, and Zuko became good at spying and ducking stray arrows.

Two more attempted poisonings, by different chefs. The last one promised that she had no idea how it happened, but Uncle dismissed her anyway, breathing fire so hot and heavy that Zuko had to excuse himself and lay down on his bed, hand cupped protectively over his bad eye.

It was obvious what was happening. Both Zuko and Iroh knew it, even if they didn’t want to admit to it. But the crew was operating under orders to make sure that Zuko could never make it back to the Fire Nation, even if he managed to complete a 97-year old cold mission.

Zuko thought that it had been a kindness, that his father had allowed Zuko a means to get out of his exile. 

Now, Zuko doesn’t sleep at night, and the grips of his dao swords make red imprints in the palms of his hands and fists as he waits for the next assassination attempt to happen.

***

“You wouldn’t,” Zuko said, and then stopped himself. 

Uncle looked up from his card game, and raised his eyebrows.

Uncle decided that Zuko should begin his training again. The bandages have been off of his newly-formed scar for a few days, now, and Uncle believed that Zuko should start practicing his meditation, at the very least.

Zuko’s okay with that, surprisingly enough. The tiny, dancing flames in the candles that Uncle sets out every night at twilight and every morning at dawn are warm and yellow, and they make Zuko feel more centered than he’s felt in the past few weeks, maybe months. There are still circles under his eyes from his frayed nerves, though, and secretly, Zuko is under no illusions that he’ll make it to the next few ports.

Uncle had begun to spend every waking moment with Zuko, though, and even some nights, too. The way his eyes narrow around the crew members were the only times that Zuko remembers that his Uncle is not just Uncle Iroh, a tea lover and food enthusiast, but also the  _ Dragon of the West. _

Which brings Zuko to wonder. It’s a dark, creeping thought, though, something that Zuko didn’t even believe himself. But still--if he mentions it, at least even once, then maybe...if it’s going to happen, then at least it would happen sooner, he tells himself. 

But it’s just paranoia.

_ Azula always lies, until she doesn’t, _ Zuko thought wildly.

“Prince Zuko,” Uncle said, “I’d really rather you focus on your meditation, rather than whatever is occupying your mind.”

“Yes, of course,” Zuko said, rearranging himself to sit up straighter. He stared at the flickering candlelight, but a flick of Uncle’s wrist brought Zuko’s gaze back to Iroh.

He was only setting down another tile for his game, though.

Zuko inhaled through his nose, and then out through his mouth. The flames from the candles rose and fell with his breath. 

Zuko tried to close his eyes and roll his shoulders back. 

Uncle took a noisy sip from his teacup.

Zuko’s eyes popped back open, and his head snapped around to watch his uncle again. 

He hadn’t moved any closer. But he was staring back at Zuko, now.

Zuko inhaled sharply, and dark smoke gutters out from the sides of one of the candles.

“Prince Zuko,” Uncle said, carefully, and Zuko wondered how wild he must look.

“Sorry,” Zuko said, even though a prince does not apologize to anyone, “I just--you wouldn’t do anything to me, would you?”

“Zuko,” Uncle said, softer now.

“Because if you did, I would just prefer it to be sooner rather than later,” he babbled, nonsensically. He can’t remember the last time he actually slept, and he swiped a hand under his right eye, rubbing at the crust near the inner corner of his eye. “It’s just--um. Never mind, I…I should get back to meditation, Uncle.”

“Prince Zuko,” Uncle said, standing up and shifting closer to Zuko. “The reason why I have you meeting with me most of the day is not for your training. I am worried about these attempts on your life. I will never allow any harm to come to you, and if that means I need to shadow you all the time, then I will.”

Zuko squeezed his eyes shut. “Uncle,” Zuko said, “I know what these attempts mean. I know that they come from--” 

He can’t even say it. Azula would be able to. Azula would kill all the crew, if she needed to. Azula wouldn’t wait in this limbo, letting her uncle protect her from everything. 

“From your father, yes,” Uncle said sadly, and he wrapped an arm around Zuko’s shoulder. 

“He’s never wanted me to be his heir,” Zuko said, forcing himself to say it clearly and without the clog of tears in his throat. If he must admit these things, then he will do it as a prince would. “My mother...she did something to Fire Lord Azulon, because he did not prefer me as heir either. She must have. That’s why she had to go away?”

Zuko risked a glance at his uncle. He did not look shocked, or offended, or even caught out, as Zuko might have expected. Instead, there was a twinkling melancholy sitting behind his eyes.

“You are smart, Prince Zuko,” Uncle said, and squeezed Zuko’s shoulder tighter, “but you are too young, still. All of this business is...well, you shouldn’t have to face all of this. And I will protect you, no matter what.”

“So Father didn’t…” Zuko said, and then trailed off.

“Your father,” Uncle said, “did not want me to come with you. And that’s when I knew that I had to go.”

Zuko inhaled sharply, and the flames followed suit, flaring up orange and red. It’s all in the breath, for firebending, and so Zuko needed to control his, no matter what.

Zuko took a few deep, slow breaths, until the candles receded from their high, sharp burn, to the calmer, sweeter, rounded flames he worked to maintain.

“So what do we do?” Zuko asked.

“We die,” Uncle said, and the candles didn’t jump like before, but Zuko still risked a glance at Iroh.

“Good control,” Uncle complimented, smiling down at him.

“What I mean is, we  _ pretend  _ to die.”

***

The plan is fairly simple, after everything that happened.

Uncle made friends with their latest cook, a drifter that they’d picked up near Kyoshi Island. She was a citizen from the Earth Kingdom, but hated Earth Kingdom nobility and needed coin in equal measure. She was happy to come aboard, given the right price.

Although she was thin and bony, and likely had never had access to the amount of ingredients available in the warship’s mess, she was a decent enough cook, which endeared Uncle toward her. And she was endeared toward Uncle, because he paid her double, to spy on the rest of the crew.

“They’re planning an explosion,” she told him bluntly, two nights before they were due to dock at a small fishing village at the base of the Kolau Mountains. “The crew will rig the ship with explosives at night, and set it on fire before morning light. That way, they can take care of both you and the brat.”

“Prince Zuko is not a brat,” Iroh said indignantly, but she’d just smiled at him and held her hand out for another gold piece, which Iroh had to give to her.

The explosion was an opportunity, but they’d have to be careful about it.

When they docked at the village, Iroh pretended to turn it at his usual time. He waited an hour or so, until the moon was high and bright in the sky, and then listened for Zuko’s knock.

He wore a dark hood, and his dao were sheathed over his shoulder. He’d already cut off his phoenix tail with his knife, and helped Iroh with his own top knot. 

Iroh led the way to the starboard side of the ship. It was quiet and still that night. Even the wind seemed scared to blow, so there was only the quiet rush of water to the shore, back and forth, a soothing metronome for Iroh and Zuko as Zuko pulled the both of them into the little dinghy attached to the side of the ship.

There were three dinghies, but they’d specifically chosen this one because it was damaged already, with rotting wood in the bow of the little boat and splintering seats. If the crew suspected an escape, then they would check this dinghy last, if at all. 

Zuko worked to lower them down, and Iroh marvelled at the precision and strength his nephew held, despite being only thirteen. Not for the first, and certainly not for the last time, Iroh felt a sick twist in stomach, thinking about how his little brother hurt and pushed aside his oldest child, simply because Zuko dared to take after Ursa instead of choosing to emulate the suppressed cruelty that characterized Ozai.

They got to the shore without a problem, and Zuko led them toward the cave that he’d scouted out beforehand. Iroh picked up driftwood from the beach as they walked, and once they’d settled, deep enough into the cave so as not to be seen, Iroh lit a fire with a constructed tepee of the driftwood.

Zuko sighed, loud and unimpressed when Iroh pulled out his pack and produced a flask of water and his old, steel travel teapot. 

“You must be kidding,” he said, tilting his head and raising his eyebrow.

“Of course not, Prince Zuko,” Iroh said cheerfully, and pulled out the travel mugs he’d brought, as well. “I also brought rations, which you seemed to have forgotten, as well.”

Zuko blushed a little, and then bit at his cheek. “Not a prince, anymore.”

Iroh felt his stomach swoop, but he still set about heating the teapot and filling it with water and his special blend of tea. Zuko would need something soothing, especially after tonight. The dark eye circles were pronounced in the hollows under his eyes, and Iroh didn’t like that at all.

“Yes, well,” Iroh said, purposely light, “People call me General Iroh all the time, and yet I am not general of  _ anything, _ anymore.”

“They won’t call you that, after tonight,” Zuko said, pulling his knees up to hug into his chest. “They’ll just call you  _ dead. _ ”

The bitter twist to his words were sharp and cutting, but Iroh pretended not to notice. Instead, he said, “And we’ll be all the better for it, because we won’t be hunted down like prey.”

Zuko didn’t say anything to that, but his frown seemed to lessen on his face, just slightly. When Iroh handed him tea, Zuko took it without a word, even sipped at it once or twice.

Close to dawn, but still early enough that there are plenty of stars in the sky, the old Fire Nation warship explodes in orange and red flame. The heat is searing and sets part of the rickety marina on fire, pushing some of the villagers to rush out, panicked, with buckets of water.

Eventually, though, all the fire dies down. By then, dawn has begun to break across the eastern sky, tinging the clouds a deep purple instead of a hard, deep red of Fire Nation dawns. Zuko watches the sky, so that he doesn’t have to stare at the old, iron skeleton of his official deathbed.

Prince Zuko and General Iroh are dead. Their bodies will be declared unrecoverable, considering the incredible pressure and heat of the explosion, and funeral arrangements are made before the messenger hawk even reaches Fire Lord Ozai.

Zuko and Iroh are very much dead.

But Mushi and Li climb out of the cave near the fishing village, and begin their lives in the Earth Kingdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, please check out my [website](https://muldoonstories.com/) for more stories. Also, I just made a [twitter](https://twitter.com/allierowell2/). Cards on the table, it's under a pseudonym because I'm a weirdo, but please talk to me on there ! Promise I'm nicer on there than I am on here, haha.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all liked this way more than I thought you would, so that's cool, I guess
> 
> but seriously, thank you :)

Zuko is balancing two tea trays, an empty teapot, and a plate of rice cakes in his arms when Uncle tells him that the Avatar’s back.

He doesn’t drop anything, but it’s close. The teapot slips from his ring finger and catches on his pinky finger, and the plate wobbles precariously over his right wrist. Zuko sets everything down on the backroom counter, and breathes in deep through his nose. When he exhales, a cloud of steam puffs out, but only from his right nostril. He’s been getting better about these things.

“How do you know?” Zuko asks.

“There was...a rumor, in the marketplace,” Uncle says delicately. 

“There’s a rumor about the Avatar every week,” Zuko says, crossing his arms. But he knows that it’s a losing battle, to argue against something like this. Uncle would only tell him if he was sure it was true.

Sure enough, Uncle shifts from one foot to the other, and says, “Yes, but it was substantiated by a disciple at a Kyoshi temple nearby. He is certain of this new...development.”

Uncle presses the side of his mouth into his cheek, and turns his back to Zuko, using a small flame from his index finger to speed up a boiling pot of water. He usually isn’t so blase about using firebending within Omashu’s city limits; there’s a reason why Zuko only gets weekly firebending lessons, and only then in a rundown shack two miles outside of Omashu’s walls. 

Uncle is giving Zuko time to pull himself together, though. Zuko doesn’t know what his face must look like, but he tries to rearrange it into a better expression. He has no idea what that looks like either, though. 

Zuko has no idea how he feels about this news.

“How do you feel?” Uncle asks Zuko anyway, turning back around.

Zuko scratches at his head, fingers tangling in the short, jagged haircut he’d kept every day, for three years. He refuses to grow his hair out any longer, even to conform to normal Earth Kingdom haircuts. He’ll never have anything close to a phoenix tail ever again, as far as he’s concerned.

Slowly, Zuko gathers back up the tea trays and rice cakes. He inhales and exhales again, deliberately, and nothing comes out except a hard press of air. Zuko nods to himself.

“I feel like it’s taken him long enough to come out of hiding,” Zuko decides.

“And that is all?” Uncle asks, with a knowing eyebrow raise.

“I also feel like we still have customers to serve, no matter what,” Zuko says, and does a sharp heel turn as emphasis for his point. He almost loses balance of the rice cakes again.

“I admire your dedication to your job,” Uncle says. “However, it does worry me how quickly that dedication comes about, and always during times where other things might require attention.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Zuko says, and pushes out of the backroom. “Also, The Jasmine Dragon is your store. If anything, you should be grateful I care so much.”

“I always care about my darling nephew!” Uncle calls as Zuko makes his way to a couple and sets down a tea tray. “You are the light of my world, Li!”

Zuko finds himself caught between a blush and a desperate need to bang his head against a wall. 

Especially after the woman coos and tips him extra for Uncle’s manipulative display.

***

Zuko meditates for two extra hours that night.

Or at least, he tries to.

His thoughts keep getting pulled toward the same thing though, again and again: the Avatar is back. The Avatar is actually alive, and he’s back, and the Fire Nation probably knows by now. He’s back, he’ll be hunted down by the Fire Nation, and that would’ve been Zuko, if he’d lived long enough and stuck with his mission.

The Avatar is back. What the hell does that mean?

Zuko doesn’t know. He knows it doesn’t affect him. Not really, not anymore. It doesn’t affect Li, a tea server in Omashu, at all. 

Zuko’s been doing okay at keeping his breath steady, but he ruins it with a ragged gasp as he realizes something: The Avatar’s entire people--his tribe, his culture--they’ve been wiped out. And that was the work of Zuko’s great-grandfather. Everything that the Avatar had known as a boy, everyone he knew--it had been burned to the ground.

Even now, a hundred years later, Zuko wonders how heavily that must sit atop the Avatar’s shoulders. He wonders whether those shoulders are withered and slumped due to age, or the things he’s endured. Zuko wonders how much pain the Avatar keeps twisted up near his spine, in the wrinkles of his weathered skin. Did it take the Avatar a hundred years to master the elements due to all of his grief? 

And Zuko was, in some indirect way, a part of that. His blood ran through his veins in a violent red, the same color that the conquering, cruel Fire Lords of the past hundred years had. Even if Zuko had renounced everything, it hadn’t been because he’d had the option to. Even if Zuko holds no loyalties to the Fire Nation right now, was he only different because of his circumstances, rather than his own choices? Would he be the same as Ozai if he’d been allowed to be?

If the Avatar ever crosses paths with Zuko, will he know who Zuko is instinctively? Zuko doesn’t know if he could deal with that. If the Avatar met Zuko, and he  _ knew  _ what Zuko was, and what his ancestors had done--maybe the Avatar would take Zuko out, just in case. And Zuko wouldn’t blame him, but what if he targeted Uncle as well? What if--

Zuko opens his eyes when he realizes how hot his bedroom has gotten, and sees the tall, searing flames that beat down on the tiny wax candle stubs. His breath is coming out in sharp pants, and he has to work to slow it down, gulping down air hard and slow and breathing it out even slower. His heart is still sprinting in his chest, but as long as he’s able to control his breath, he can control his firebending.

He refuses to let it grow out of control. Uncle has taught him how to harness and leash his bending, and Zuko works more on that than anything else, nowadays. He’d used to be much more interested in combat training, but ever since their “deaths,” Zuko wants to master his bending so that he’ll never have to use it again.

He knows that Uncle doesn’t like this perspective much, though. He believes in firebending as something different, something better. But Uncle is a firebending prodigy. Zuko was lucky to firebend at all.

Zuko pushes at his scar with his fingertips. The tissue has become hardened, rigid, and darker in the three years since--since Zuko’s banishment. His left eye remains permanently squinted, the vision fuzzy and out of focus in periphery, and he can’t hear anything out of his left ear anymore. It looks as angry and impressive as it was when it was burned into his skin, though, and he can always feel new customers staring at him. 

It’s always with pity, though. They assume he had a bad run-in with Fire Nation soldiers when he was little, or that he was born in the colonies before escaping. The staring is always accompanied by soft exclamations of sympathy, followed by tipping him a little extra, no matter if his service is always grumpy and gruff at best.

If they knew who he really was. Where he was really from. Who his father was. 

They would hate him. 

Everyone would, and Zuko couldn’t blame them. Not after hearing horror story after horror story about the Fire Nation every day since coming to Omashu. And especially not after experiencing assassination attempts, ordered by his own father, the  _ great  _ and  _ wonderful  _ Fire Lord Ozai. 

But now the Avatar was back, and he would kill Zuko’s father for throwing the world out of balance, and Zuko knows that he hates his father for what he’s tried to do to Zuko and Uncle, but.

It’s all complicated. It’s all twisted up in a knot in his head, thick and braided and impossible for Zuko to undo, or even find the ends of.

The best Zuko can hope for is that he won’t cross paths with the Avatar. And he probably won’t, anyway. This isn’t Zuko’s fight, anymore. His only stake in the war is the borders of the Fire Nation’s territory, so that he knows which areas to avoid.

Zuko takes a few more steadying breaths, and then pinches out the candle flames with his hand. He won’t be able to meditate tonight.

Zuko stands up, stretching himself out. He turns around, and eyes the broadswords held up by pegs over his nightstand.

Then, he nods to himself, and grabs the small lockbox from underneath his bed.

***

“There were sightings of the Blue Spirit last night,” Iroh says at breakfast the next day.

Zuko nods sleepily. There’s a jagged cut running up his arm that hadn’t been there before, and Iroh can see extra padding around his torso, so he assumes that Zuko’s had to wrap his ribs again. Iroh sighs, and pours Zuko an extra-full cup of tea.

“Apparently he helped out a young girl who was cornered in an alleyway, as well as stopped a robbery from happening. And that’s only what I’ve heard from our neighbors next door,” Iroh continues, setting down the teapot in the middle of the table and watching Zuko’s face. Sure enough, there’s a barely there twist of his lips; the right corner lifts up, and then down again, and then Zuko takes a long drink from his cup.

“This is good tea, Uncle,” Zuko says.

“Should we add an hour of hand-to-hand training on top of firebending lessons, this week?” Iroh asks.

Zuko frowns at him. “I’m fine. I don’t need any more training,” he says, and reaches for his teacup again. It’s with his non-dominant hand, though; his other shoulder stays slumped down.

So Iroh walks over and says, “I’m sure you don’t,” and claps a hand down on the slumped shoulder. His grip is gentle, but still firm enough.

Zuko winces, and jerks back in his seat. 

“Should I get you a sling?” Iroh asks kindly.

“Don’t need it,” Zuko says. “I dislocated it, but I set it back into place.”

“Two extra hours of hand-to-hand,” Iroh says.“We can just close up shop a bit early at the end of the week.”

“...Fine.”

***

While Zuko wouldn’t say he’s at  _ peace  _ with the fact that the Avatar has finally appeared, out of nowhere, one and a half lifetimes after disappearing--well, he’d say that he’s at least come to terms with it.

And besides, it’s not like there’s any reason for the Avatar to visit Omashu. Not when it’s remained a stronghold in the Earth Kingdom, and only has half of the political sway of Ba Sing Se. 

So he’ll be fine, and every time he feels like he won’t be--whenever he feels an acidic swell of panic in his chest, or when his heart stutters uncomfortably when he sees a Fire Nation insignia, or when he has nightmares that end in the smell of melted flesh and a deep searing pain in his eye and ear--well, that’s what meditation and the Blue Spirit are for. 

He’ll be fine.

***

Then, everything changed, when a couple of idiot kids in a cart destroyed an incredible amount of public property.

***

Zuko doesn’t know what the hell to do.

Well, that’s an over-exaggeration--he should lead these kids to an open table, and explain about the special on Uncle’s new tea blends, maybe hand them a paper menu from the pocket of his apron if they ask for a closer look at the selection.

But also, to a larger, more earth-shattering degree:  _ Zuko doesn’t know what the hell to do. _

“Is that--that’s, uh, the Avatar. You're the Avatar,” Zuko stutters.

The kid in the orange and yellow robes, who’s been bouncing on his toes for the past two minutes, abruptly stops, and readjusts the straw hat on the top of his head. The brim’s slung low, probably in an attempt to hide his gigantic arrow in the middle of his forehead, but there’s no mistaking the arrows on the backs of his hands, or the  _ airbending robes  _ that this  _ twelve-year-old kid _ is wearing. 

The Avatar is a young kid. But also has been missing for over a hundred years. But is still definitely the Avatar, and an Air Nomad, and hyperactive, and he’s bouncing on his toes again, and the water-tribe girl with the wide blue eyes steps forward and across, like she’s trying to block the Avatar from Zuko’s sight. Which is probably a good call, Zuko can’t stop staring because it’s the  _ Avatar. _

“Can we get a table,” she says, low and without a question anywhere in her voice. It’s a half-tone from a threat, but it isn’t one, quite yet. The same can’t be said for the other boy, clearly her brother. He’s already pulled out a sharp-looking boomerang from the sheath on his back.

“I’m not,” Zuko says, and then stops. He’s--well. Technically he’s an enemy. “I just--that’s the Avatar. But I’m--I’m surprised. Is all. That the Avatar. Is in Omashu. In my uncle’s tea shop.”

Somehow, that stumbling, hysterical mess of an explanation relaxes the three of them. The Water-Tribe guy slides his boomerang back into the sheath, and the kid Avatar, the Avatar who is a  _ kid, _ says, “Oh, it’s your uncle’s shop? That’s great! King Bumi suggested we stop by here before we left Omashu.”

Zuko knew that his uncle had served tea for King Bumi a couple of times. He’d never tagged along, but it was a point of pride for Iroh. And it should be.

But why would the king suggest that the Avatar and his friends stop by the tea shop? There was nothing here. Did the Avatar even like tea? What was he doing here, anyway? Omashu had nothing to do with the fight against the Fire Nation, and oh, God, this twelve year old would have to fight Zuko’s maniacal psychopathic Fire Lord of a father, and he had no idea who Zuko was and just happened to wander into a tea shop into Omashu because apparently Uncle’s tea skills would be the actual death of Zuko, what the  _ fuck. _

Instead of saying all of this, though, Zuko’s brain-to-mouth filter, which should’ve been under a  _ shutdown  _ order, instead mumbles out, “King Bumi? You? Why…?”

And the Avatar, who is a  _ hyperactive  _ and  _ short little wisp of a kid, _ takes that as license to explain how he’d managed to get arrested because he was the insane mastermind behind some hare-brained scheme to treat the package delivery system as some sort of deluded thrill ride, and also apparently he’d known King Bumi when they were kids, except the Avatar was  _ still  _ a kid, and King Bumi was an old man. A ripped old man, but still an old man. 

There was also some weird side explanation about rock candy that had started to encase his friends’ entire bodies unless the Avatar passed some weird, off-the-wall tasks set by King Bumi, but Zuko’s vision greys out for a second and when he refocuses in, the Avatar was saying, “I’m Aang, by the way! Also can we get a table? We’re still just kind of standing here.”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, because what else was he supposed to say? “Um, follow me,” and then he leads them to a corner table and says, “I’m Zu-- I mean, Li. I’m Li.”

“Zu-Li?” the water-tribe boy questions, raising an eyebrow.

“Just Li, here,” Zuko says, and then wants to bite off his own tongue. “I mean, it’s just Li. And I’m here. Li, here! Uh, what would you like to order? Have I handed you a menu yet? I haven’t. Actually, you probably want to meet my uncle, don’t you? I’ll get him for you.”

“What--” the girl starts to say, but Zuko just grabs all the paper menus out of his pocket and slams them on the table (way too many for three people, it’s a pretty thick stack) and then whirls around, nearly sprinting to the back room in his desperation to get away from the  _ fucking child Avatar _ whose life Zuko had _ ,  _ by proximity or by blood-line _ , ruined. _

***

Iroh comes out of the backroom with his head held high and shoulders pressed back. He knows that he doesn’t cut much of an intimidating figure, but whoever these customers are, they’re enough to scare Zuko. So it’s his responsibility to make sure that they’re not here to cause trouble.

Zuko had only managed to pant out, “Customers--outside--I don’t know how--I think they want to meet you--?” when he’d burst into the backroom. His hands had been gripping into his apron, and when he let go to lean against the counter, they’d actually been slight soot stains and burn marksfrom some of his fingertips.

So Iroh immediately headed for the doors, Zuko following behind him, looking slightly sweaty and his eyes bugging out of his skull.

Iroh looks around, and when his eyes catch on the three kids clustered around a tea table, he sighs sharply, all of the air pressing out of his nose at once.

“Oh, Zuko,” he murmurs, and then walks leisurely over to the Avatar and his friends.

“Hello,” Iroh says, pasting a kindly smile on his face, “I am Mushi, and I own this store. I understand you three are here for some tea?”

The Avatar--Bumi had told him that his name was Aang--beams at him. His face is still rounded out with baby fat, just as disturbingly young as Iroh had feared. His eyes are bright and wide. The two water-tribe teenagers with him smile just as easily at him. The girl has blue eyes that matches the brightness of Aang’s. The older boy seems to be around Zuko’s age, and already sports the typical wolf tail that water-tribe warriors typically wore.

All too young, but Iroh supposed, with a good deal of regret, that there was nothing to be done about that.

“Yes, please!” Aang says. “Oh, by the way, my name’s Aang, and these are my friends, Katara and Sokka!”

Katara and Sokka both give small little waves, and Iroh makes sure to smile at both of them. “Good to meet all of you,” he says warmly. “Now, I’m not in the habit of ordering for my guests, but for the Avatar and his friends, I’d like to serve them the best I have to offer. I’ve just finished a pot of jasmine tea, which my nephew will fetch for you all, if you’d like?”

“That sounds wonderful,” Katara says, fingers resting lightly atop the small mountain of menus that Zuko had seemingly thrown at them. Zuko roughly grabs them from her, shoving them back into his apron, and runs back off to the backroom. Iroh tries not to watch his retreat.

“Is your nephew okay?” Aang asks as soon as Zuko had disappeared into the backroom.

“Yeah, he seemed pretty freaked when we asked for a table,” Sokka adds. “Which is weird, considering that that’s just his job.”

Iroh presses his lips together, and tugs at his beard with his left hand. “My nephew...has had a rough life,” Iroh settles on. “Sometimes he forgets his manners, especially in the company of such important people.”

Aang winces, barely noticeable, but the water-tribe girl’s eyes cut over to him anyway, focusing in on him as she says, “That’s all right. We understand perfectly.”

Iroh knows that they’re already making assumptions, and connections, based off of Zuko’s scar. No doubt believing that he’s faced loss from the Fire Nation. They are correct.

Zuko reemerges from the backroom, looking just as harried and vaguely sick as he had throughout this entire interaction. But at least he’s holding a tray with the jasmine teapot and three cups and saucers. He jerkily heads back over to them, and puts down the tray and teapot mechanically, as if he’s having to remind himself how to move all of his limbs.

“So, how long are you in Omashu?” Iroh asks conversationally, as Katara reaches over and pours each of her friends a cup of tea. Zuko steps back but doesn’t move from the corner table, instead hovering near Iroh’s shoulder, eyes ricocheting from the Avatar, to his friends, to his uncle over and over again.

It’s a good thing that this is an off-hour and near closing time, for the Jasmine Dragon. Otherwise, Zuko would be useless for any other customer, and probably for the rest of the day.

“We’re actually leaving the city after this,” Katara pipes up. “King Bumi was kind enough to us to give us a guided tour of Omashu, and we’ve enjoyed his hospitality and generosity. But it’s best that we moved on.”

“Yeah,” Aang agrees enthusiastically. “We have to head North, so Katara and I can learn waterbending!”

“Even if Sokka would like to spend more time here and investigate local cryptids,” Katara teases.

Her older brother rises to the bait, setting down his teacup and waving his arms a bit, saying, “I just want to stay an extra night and see if we can run into that Blue Spirit guy!”

Iroh hears Zuko choke on air right next to him, and immediately goes to rub his back. “King Bumi told you about the Blue Spirit, I assume?” he asks carefully.

“Apparently he’s a vigilante who helps people, with these cool dual swords! How awesome is  _ that,” _ Sokka says, like he’s trying to prove a point. Katara rolls her eyes, but Sokka just waves around his arms a little more. “I mean, come  _ on, _ the dude has to be cool as hell, and he’s spotted pretty often! If we just waited another night--”

“He sounds dangerous, Sokka,” Katara says, with the air of someone who's already had to have this conversation multiple times today. “And we really should be heading on. You know what happens if we stay too long in one place.”

Sokka deflates a bit, and scowls into his teacup.

“Have you ever met the Blue Spirit?” Aang asks suddenly, turning back to Iroh. Iroh hears Zuko choke on air again.

And then, before Iroh can even open his mouth, Zuko is rambling, saying, “No, definitely not. I mean, he’s here often enough, I guess--I know him. I mean, know  _ of  _ him! I know people who’ve met him, but I haven’t met him. So.”

Aang blinks.

“...Okay,” Sokka says, and squints at Zuko.

“The Blue Spirit is a protective force in Omashu,” Iroh adds lightly. “But he never talks, and is mostly there to intimidate criminals. So you will not miss out on much, if you leave before meeting him.”

“Yeah, but I just want to see his swords up close,” Sokka insists. “I mean, the dude’s basically a hero! And really good at fighting.”

“He is kinda cool,” Aang agrees absentmindedly, sipping at his tea, and apparently that’s the breaking point for Zuko, because Zuko suddenly says, “Hey, Uncle, I’ve got that--thing. Later. Remember? I’ve gotta go. I really do. So, bye.”

And then he just unties his apron and shoves it into Iroh’s arms, and escapes out of the front door, all within the span of two or three seconds.

Iroh sighs deeply, and folds Zuko’s apron under his arm.

“Like I said,” he says, turning back to the three confused kids in front of him, “my nephew struggles with manners, sometimes. But he was no doubt honored to meet you, as I am. I hope you enjoy your tea. I shall be in the backroom, if you need anything else.”

“Thank you,” Katara says, nodding at him. “The tea is delicious, by the way.”

“It really is,” Aang agrees, slurping loudly out of his cup.

Iroh laughs. “A great compliment from the Avatar himself. And, if I may: I wish you safe travels on your journey, Aang, Katara, and Sokka. May we meet again in safer and happier times.”

“The same to you,” Aang says, and presses a fist into an open palm, doing a smaller version of a traditional Air Nomad bow from where he’s seated at the tea table.

A living relic of a tragic history. Iroh bites his lip, and nods once more before disappearing into the backroom.

***

Iroh comes home and immediately checks Zuko’s room. If he's not there, then he's out as the Blue Spirit, which means he's in a more volatile state.

Thankfully, though, Zuko is still trying to meditate with his candles. He's doing poorly, the flames ragged and smoke pouring out of the leftmost candle, but his attempts to calm his mind through peaceful means still make Iroh proud.

“I apologize for the position you were put in today, Zuko,” Iroh says quietly, and watches as the flames go out, as if in defeat. Zuko opens his eyes and turns to look at Iroh.

“I just…” Zuko takes a deep breath, and then another. He rubs at his scar with his left hand, knuckles kneading into the red, crusted-over scar tissue. “He’s a child, Uncle. He’s just a child.”

“I know, Zuko,” Iroh says.

“He’ll kill my father, if he gets the chance,” Zuko also says. “And he’s. He’s just a child.”

“I know, Zuko,” Iroh says again, and steps further into Zuko’s bedroom. He takes a seat next to Zuko, and relights the candles with a quick burst of flame.

“Is this helping?” he asks him.

Zuko shrugs, but he won’t look at Iroh. “But the Blue Spirit won’t help, either.”

“What will?” Iroh asks. “What do you want?”

Zuko’s still rubbing at his scar. “I don’t know. I guess I feel-conflicted. And guilty, but I don’t know--I’m angry too, and...but I won’t have to see him again. The Avatar. He’s already been to Omashu once. I won’t have to see him again, and it’s not--none of this has anything to do with me. And I won’t have to see him again, so none of it matters, right, Uncle?”

Iroh sighs, and gestures to the candles. 

“Meditate, Zuko,” he says softly. “And figure out what you do want, and what you feel, before you make any excuses or explanations for what’s going on in your mind.”

Zuko shakes his head. “But I won’t have to see him again,” he says, and looks up at Iroh. His eyes, in the low candlelight, are nearly unreadable, even to Iroh. “So.”

“Oh, Zuko,” Iroh says, and doesn’t find that he has anything else to say, for once.

***

“So that dude with the scar from the tea shop was really weird, right?” Sokka asks, stretching out against Appa’s saddle.

“Kinda, yeah,” Katara agrees. “He seemed really nervous. Maybe he has anxiety or something?”

“I liked him, though,” Aang says, playing with Appa’s reigns.

“You like everybody,” Sokka says. “It’s annoying.”

“Yeah, but I liked him,” Aang says. “I don’t know why, I just...do.”

“Okay,” Sokka says. “No need to get defensive about it. He can be weird, and you still like him. I mean, you’re weird, but we still like you.”

“Gee, thanks, Sokka,” Aang says.

They drop the subject after that. 

But that night, Aang’s dreams center around the guy with yellow-orange eyes and an angry scar stretching across his face, and a warm, but burning feeling that envelopes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black Lives Matter. Here's a [link](https://blacklivesmatter.com/) to donate. Please do, if you have the means.
> 
> Remember to wash your hands, socially distance, and treat people with kindness. 
> 
> If you liked this, please check out my [website](https://muldoonstories.com/) for more stories. Also, I just made a [twitter](https://twitter.com/allierowell2/). Cards on the table, it's under a pseudonym because I'm a weirdo, but please talk to me on there ! Promise I'm nicer on there than I am on here, haha.


	3. The Pohuai Stronghold, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen i wanted to make it one huge ginormous chapter and then i remembered that i don't work that way and i've never worked that way, whoops
> 
> the second chapter will actually deal with the whole blue spirit rescue thing, I promise. Also, you may be asking yourself why the chapter number is getting longer? And to that, Talking Heads stan, I will tell you I don't know. I really did have a plan, at first.
> 
> well, most of a plan.
> 
> part of a plan.
> 
> see y'all later whoops

Iroh comes back home from his meeting with Bumi feeling desolate.

And “desolate” was a bit of an understatement. There was a catching, nervy kind of fear that stuck in Iroh’s throat like a bone, and a pit that was starting to yawn open in his stomach. 

(Although, it could’ve been hunger. Bumi had offered a feast, as always, but this particular time, Iroh hadn’t felt up to eating.)

He and Zuko would have to leave Omashu. And soon. 

Bumi’s intel was good, backed up by several other Lotus members; the Fire Nation would be sending troops to conquer Omashu, and the quality and amount of these troops promised bloodshed and sieges, if fought properly.

Bumi would be surrendering.

Not that “surrendering” was how Bumi explained it: “I'll defeat them. But I won’t have any more of my guard or citizens dying to help me with it. And I can’t put you and Zuko in any kind of danger, old friend; that’s why you must get out now, while you still can.”

Bumi had already made arrangements for Zuko and Iroh to stop by the Merchant’s Town, only a day and a half’s ride from Omashu, to catch a wagon train that would be full of Earth Kingdom citizens interested in emigrating to Ba Sing Se. 

“I’ll provide you and your nephew with ostrich horses, of course, but I can’t provide protection--not that you’d need it, old friend. It’s less suspicious with the two of you traveling alone,” Bumi had said, and Iroh agreed. “Plus, Ba Sing Se immigration officials are always partial to Merchant Town immigrants. Less desperate than refugees coming from the ferries, and promised to have some kind of marketable skill. Which you do, of course!”

Bumi had held up his cup of jasmine tea, as both proof and a sort-of toast to Iroh. Iroh had smiled at Bumi, but it must have come across as more of a grimace, because Bumi snorted, his eyes squinting up irregularly.

“You must work on your poker face, Iroh,” he'd said. “Otherwise, people might find you out!”

“Is that a threat?” Iroh had asked, his mouth curving up into a realer smile.

“If only it was!” Bumi had said, borderline giggling at this point, and gulped down his entire cup of tea, setting it down on the table for Iroh to refill it. “I  _ will  _ miss your tea, though. I’ll miss it loads.”

“I’ll lend you some blends before I leave,” Iroh had offered.

“I don’t think it’s lending if I’m going to drink it all,” Bumi said, and grinned widely, just as uneven as his squinting eyes.

Iroh had sighed, and sipped at his tea. He’d miss Omashu, that was for sure.

***

Zuko had thought that he was relatively quiet when he snuck back into the apartment.

It was early--early enough that the pale dawn light was a milky purple, and the sun hadn’t yet crested the eastern horizon. He'd crawled on his belly across the thatched roof, staying low so neighbors wouldn’t notice the Blue Spirit accessing the window to the flat above the Jasmine Dragon tea shop. That would definitely raise some questions, and the identity of the Blue Spirit must stay secret. Zuko and his uncle couldn’t afford to draw that sort of attention to themselves.

Once he'd reached the edge of the rooftop, he hung down, arms first, and pressed his thumbs down on the top of the window pane directly below him. The glass shifted slightly, sinking down into the rotted sill, and he was able to withdraw the entire sheet of glass with a practiced ease. Once that was done, he'd shifted himself forward until only his knees and calves were in contact with the roof, and dropped the sheet down softly on the balcony. 

Zuko had shifted himself back onto the roof, swinging around so that he hung from his fingertips at the edge of the thatched edges, and this time dropped himself down softly onto the balcony. From there, he'd been able to shimmy through the window opening, reach back down onto the balcony, and slot the glass pane back into its rightful place. Zuko had sighed, lightly, and removed the heavy wooden mask from his face, mopping his brow with one of his cotton hand wrappings.

But when Zuko had turned around, he was greeted with the sight of his uncle sitting at their little tea table with two cups of steaming green tea.

Zuko frowns. “Why are you up so early? I thought you had a late night ‘game’ of Pai Sho.”

He of course said “game” in quotations. Uncle wasn’t ever very upfront about those kinds of meetings--always saying “when you’re older,” as if Zuko hadn’t just turned 16, only four years away from formal recognition as an adult in the Earth Kingdom, and very adult anyway, in Zuko’s opinion. But Zuko knew that something was up, and that King Bumi’s love of the tea shop wasn’t all due to Uncle’s (admittedly fantastic) tea blends.

His uncle sighs. As Zuko moves closer, unwrapping his hands and setting down the Blue Spirit mask on one of the hooks on the wall, he notices dark smudges under Uncle’s eyes, and the uncharacteristic slump to his shoulders. Uncle must’ve been up all night waiting for Zuko to come home.

“It wasn’t any more dangerous than usual,” Zuko says cautiously, as he unstraps his dao from his back. “You didn’t need to worry.”

“I know,” his uncle says, rubbing at his nose with a closed fist. “I have some news that I believed you would like to hear as soon as possible.”

Zuko’s heart stops for a moment, and then, as if to make up for the interruption, begins throbbing hard inside of his chest. 

Uncle, watching the blood start draining out of Zuko’s face, hurriedly says, “It’s not--we’ve not been found out or anything, Zuko. Come, sit, have some tea.”

Zuko swallows, but does so. He unwinds the wrappings, undoing the knots at the wrists, and lets the scraps of cloth fall onto the floor. Uncle wouldn’t appreciate any sort of sweat sinking into his beloved tea table. Zuko cups his hands, still raw from punching and the cold night air, around the hot, steaming mug of tea, and sucks in a sharp breath.

Uncle watches Zuko until he takes a small sip of tea, and then says, “I’m afraid we’ll have to be moving on from Omashu, Zuko.”

Zuko bites down on his lower lip. His heart starts to slow, though--he’d thought that it would’ve been...much worse, than that. Still, his eyebrow starts furrowing down, scraping against the scar tissue on the other side of his face.

“But your tea shop,” Zuko says.

Uncle smiles, but it’s got the same downturn at the corners as it did whenever he began reminiscing about his wife (who died before Zuko was even born), or Lu-Ten.

“I got reliable intel,” he says, and then hesitates for a moment. Then, starting again, he says, “I got reliable intel that the Fire Nation is planning to conquer Omashu soon.”

Zuko’s fingers spasm against his teacup, squeezing hard against it. His foot kicks into the wooden floor below them with a dull thud.

“Fuck,” he says. “When.”

“Anywhere from a week from now, to perhaps a month or so,” Uncle says calmly. 

Zuko nods stiffly. “And when are we leaving?”

“Tomorrow,” Uncle says. “I’ve already begun packing for the both of us.”

Zuko sucks in a deep breath, and glances at the Blue Spirit mask again. Too early to go out. Too much energy buzzing for proper meditation. 

It’s fine, though. It’s all fine. Zuko pushes away from the tea table and starts to pace.

It’s fine, except he’s being pushed out of his home,  _ again,  _ because of the Fire Nation,  _ again, _ and there was nothing he or Uncle could do except flee, and it was just. It was so fucking unfair.

Zuko kicks the nearest wall, and then slams his hand, palm open, against the wall.

“Zuko,” his uncle says. His tone is careful. He never uses that sort of tone, not anymore. Not since the ship.

“I hate them,” he says, raggedly. “I just--I hate them so much, Uncle, I can’t--”

His voice breaks before he can finish. When his hand drops down from the wall, it’s covered in soot. Zuko hasn’t inadvertently firebent in  _ years. _

“Fuck,” he says again.

Uncle comes up from behind him, puts a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll be all right, Zuko. I promise you. And we’re going to Ba Sing Se. Even I couldn’t break that city,” he says, and Zuko can hear the self-effacing smile without turning around.

“It’s so unfair,” Zuko says.

“I know,” Uncle says. “But we’ll be okay. Okay?”

Zuko sighs, and presses his forehead against the wall. He takes another deep breath, and pictures three burning candles in front of him. Pictures himself trying to control them, until his breathing is under control again.

Then he turns to Uncle and says, “Okay. Fine. What’s the plan?”

Uncle nods at him, and rubs Zuko’s shoulder once more before dropping his hand. 

“We’ll take the Trading Road up to Merchant Town, and then catch an emigration wagon to Ba Sing Se,” Uncle says. “All our papers are taken care of. We cannot tell anyone our exact reasons for leaving Omashu, of course. The reasons we’ll give is simply a need for a change of scenery and hope for better business within the walls of Ba Sing Se."

Zuko follows Uncle’s explanation fairly easily, and then turns the information over in his mind. All of it sounded fairly reasonable--except--except…

“The Trading Road,” Zuko says, “it skirts the Pohuai Stronghold, doesn’t it.”

Uncle nods. “But it’s often traversed, especially by immigrants, and Earth Kingdom guards are vigilant along that stretch. The territory hasn’t been encroached on or interchanged in almost fifteen years.”

“And it’s the only way, isn’t it,” Zuko says.

“It’s the safest,” Uncle amends.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Zuko says.

“I know,” Uncle says, but he’s already turning back to the tea table, where the pot of tea still sits, largely untouched. Steam is still drifting out of the spout in faint wisps. “It’ll be all right, though. I promised to keep you safe, Zuko. That promise still stands.”

Zuko takes a deep breath. “There is no honor in running,” he says.

Uncle casts a quick glance at Zuko, still stubbornly leaning against the far wall. “And here I thought you’d disregarded all your Fire Nation culture.”

Zuko chews on his cheek. “It just doesn’t feel right. Letting them do whatever they want,” he says, and rubs a hand over his face.

“We’ll have our time to act,” Uncle says solemnly. “But much of that involves strategy. We’re of no use to anyone if we’re caught out by your--by Fire Lord Ozai.”

Zuko snorts. “Are you trying to call this a tactical retreat?”

“Of sorts,” Uncle says, quirking an eyebrow. There’s a twinkle in his eye for the first time all morning. “Now sit, have tea. Don’t let it go cold, I went through all the trouble of making it for you.”

Zuko chews on his cheek for a moment longer, but quickly gives in and makes his way over to the table once more. Uncle smiles, and gestures toward Zuko’s abandoned tea. 

“Thank you, Uncle,” he says quietly, and takes a large gulp of tea, feeling its warmth trickle all the way down to his stomach.

***

They receive their ostrich horses outside of Ba Sing Se, already saddled down with extra Earth Kingdom coins, maps, bedrolls, and tarps in case it rained. Additionally, Iroh and Zuko each had their own packs slung over their shoulders. Iroh had packed his favorite traveling teapot--the one he’d saved from their ship three years ago--along with a foldable Pai Sho board and the accompanying pieces. He keeps the White Lotus tile in the breast pocket of his tunic.

Zuko, Iroh knows, had packed his dao, three candles, the Blue Spirit mask, and an extra set of black training clothes. He hadn’t packed much else, leaving the rations once again to Iroh. Iroh had shaken his head at this, but indulged Zuko anyway. Perhaps he had a bad habit of that, but Zuko was a fine young man all the same.

They ride at a reasonable clip, taking care not to seem too rushed. Zuko seems caught between wanting to gather more speed and an intense fear of seeming too suspicious during the journey. The end result was Zuko’s ostrich horse sprinting away for minutes at a time, only to circle back and meet Iroh. Seeing as they were riding through mountainous territory, by nightfall Zuko’s ostrich horse was quite reasonably exhausted, panting as they dismount near a river just a half mile away from the main road.

Both ostrich horses drank greedily, puffing their feathers in appreciation of the cool water. Once they finally have their fill, Iroh says, “This is probably a good spot to make camp, don’t you think, Li?”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, “I guess.”

His shoulders look stiff and he looks a bit pained. But that’s been true since they’d hit the road, so Iroh decides to take it in stride.

In short order, they’d set up camp only fifty paces or so outside of the river, near a twisting thicket that had been difficult to navigate their ostrich horses through. “The river can carry voices,” Iroh explains to Zuko as he pulls out his tea pot, tea tin, and bits of jerky and crusty rolls. “Our camp should be invisible to travelers, but it can also give us ample warning, in case anything were happening.”

Zuko nods at the explanation, his eyes fixed on the food that Iroh had set out. He grabs a bit of jerky and tears into it with his teeth. Iroh smiles as Zuko tucks in, and pulls out some cucumber crab apples too, offering them to the ostrich horses who also tear into their food with gusto.

***

It seems like it takes no time at all before their camp is set up, their tea drunk, and the fire extinguished with a flick of Uncle’s wrist. Zuko almost wants to protest over this blatant use of firebending, but Uncle’s right--aside from the rush of the river, the occasional snores of their ostrich horses, and tree frogs croaking low in the trees overhead, Zuko can’t hear anyone or anything else around them.

“Well,” Uncle says, looking up at the night sky, “It’s early yet, but we should probably leave early tomorrow, just to make sure we can make it to Merchant Town on time. I propose turning in. What do you think?”

Zuko looks up at the sky. It really is very early--although their ostrich horses had wasted no time falling to sleep, the sun had only set a few minutes ago. In the dying light, Zuko could still see the red streaks of clouds overhead, and feel the vestiges of sunlight nipping at his skin. His firebending still feels awake in his veins, itching to be streamed out through his fingertips.

But then again, Zuko’s always been awful at going to sleep early, and the Blue Spirit certainly doesn’t help matters.

“Sure,” Zuko says, and sits back on his bedroll, pounding at his pillow a few times to get it fluffed up.

Uncle hadn’t even waited for Zuko’s agreement. His eyes are already closed, hand settled across his belly as he breathes deep and slow across the still-smoking firepit.

Zuko rolls his eyes, and then rolls over for more comfort. 

It doesn’t help.

“Wish I had your ability, old man,” Zuko mutters to himself.

***

That wish becomes especially true as a few hours slip, Zuko still doesn't feel the least bit tired.

He flips over onto his side, and then his stomach, and then to his other side, then finds himself on his back again. Uncle is snoring just a few feet away. Zuko would be bitter about it if he wasn’t already so bitter about the cold hard ground underneath him.

“Fuck,” Zuko says, and then gets up, knees popping, to grab his dao and a whetstone. If he couldn’t sleep, he may as well do  _ something  _ productive.

“...Wait, really?” Someone says, and Zuko shudders, nearly dropping his pack on the forest floor out of shock. They’d sounded like they were  _ right beside him. _ Zuko whirls around, and then back again, and blinks.

There’s no one there.

“It’s what I heard!” Someone else insists. There’s a sound of heavy, clobbering footsteps--more ostrich horses, then. Zuko relaxes, and sits back down on his bedroll, pulling out his supplies. They must be downstream, a bit. Uncle was correct--there was no one in sight, but the voices still easily carried across this stretch of the riverbend.

“That’s--I mean, if General Zhao really has the Avatar…” the first voice worries, and Zuko suddenly finds himself in danger of dropping his dao,  _ again. _

General Zhao. The Avatar. _What_ _. _

“He employed the Yuyan Archers,” the second voice says, a bit gravely. It sounds even closer than it had been; Zuko was now glad that Uncle had made use of the thicket as a bit of protection. Even if they pass by Zuko and Uncle’s camp, they likely wouldn’t pay it any mind, especially in the dark of night. “Talo--you know, guy with the messy hair and really bright green eyes--he’s with the 45th cohort that’s visiting our base. He told me at dinner today. Said that according to intelligence, Zhao and the Archers already captured the Avatar.”

“Yeah, but where would Talo have heard  _ that _ ?”

“He heard the general talking! Apparently he was complaining about having to get in contact with the Council of Five. Talo was just worried that we’d have to somehow invade the Fire Nation base at the Pohuai Stronghold. That shit’s nearly impenetrable, and none of us are exactly  _ educated  _ on Fire Nation holding cells. No one’s ever been in them and gotten out of them, especially around these parts.”

Zuko grips his dao hard. He makes no move to try and sharpen them. He doesn’t try to make a move at all, really.

“Talo this, Talo that,” the first voice says. “When are you going to tell him you’re in love with him?”

“I’m not in  _ love  _ with him,” the second voice says wryly. “Whether I’d like to make sweet, sweet love to him is another matter entirely…”

The two men laugh, and it sounds closer than ever. Zuko creeps forward, squatting, until he’s peering through the thicket. The underbrush is tightly knitted, but Zuko catches a few glimpses through the small gaps, of men wearing the heavy armor of the Earth Kingdom army. They’re riding their ostrich horses slowly, carefully checking both sides of the riverbank as they move. Must be some sort of Earth Kingdom patrol. Zuko keeps still, and trains his eyes on their movements.

Eventually the men pass the riverbend, heading away from Zuko and Uncle’s camp. Zuko bites his lip, and pulls away from the thicket. He sits down on his bedroll, and tries to untangle his web of thoughts.

The Avatar--that little kid--captured by the Fire Nation. Not  _ just  _ Fire Nation, but General Zhao. Zuko remembers him, from his--from when--well, Zuko remembers him. Awful man, worse than the huge mutton chops that sat on either side of his face. Cruel beyond belief. Zuko remembers watching him blasting fire bolts at the turtle ducks in the courtyard pond just for fun.

And now Aang was in their grasp. Only a few hours away from Zuko’s location. Maybe less, if Zuko rides fast.

Zuko swallows. The fort in Pohuai Stronghold. He’d visited it once, when he was about seven or so. It’s not as if he’d remember the layout extraordinarily well, but. Fire Nation forts are all designed essentially the same. Function over flair--it was easier for generals to make use of the forts if they all understood the general layout.

Like Zuko does. 

Zuko inadvertently remembers Aang’s bright smile. The way his hands were small, fitting around his teacup like a child’s would. Because he  _ was  _ a child.

And he was also the only chance that Zuko and Uncle would have at freedom.

At that thought, Zuko’s stomach tries to overturn itself. Zuko, ex-prince of the Fire Nation, now dependent on the Avatar to ruin his country and kill his father.

Not that Ozai wouldn’t deserve it, of course.

In fact, he has it coming to him. He tried to kill  _ Zuko, _ his only son. If you want to get technical, tried to kill him twice, and Zuko lost his mother, his entire country, to that man.

Zuko breathes hard, out through his nose. He picks up his dao without realizing it, then sets them down, but only so he can root around in his travel pack.

His bundle of black clothes, tied up with hand wraps, sit at the bottom of the pack. He’d made them accessible as a just-in-case; traveling can be dangerous in the Earth Kingdom sometimes, especially so close to Fire Nation bases.

But now he’s planning to walk straight into one.

Well, not  _ walk, _ and it’s for a good cause.

“Fuck,” Zuko mumbles under his breath, but still snatches up the clothes and the mask that he’d tucked in the front pocket, stuffed under his itchiest wool gloves.

“Fuck,” Zuko says again, once he’s dressed and untying one of the ostrich horses from the tree, pulling the Earth Kingdom map out of the saddle bag as he does.

“ _Fuck_ me,” Zuko says, a final time, as he crosses the river at its shallowest point, about a mile and a half away from the camp and leading the ostrich horse carefully over the slippery stones and rushing water.

Then he gets back on his horse and is mostly silent, guiding himself and the ostrich horse through the forest with a flame carefully cupped in his palm. 

After all, if he wants to cross into and out of Fire Nation territory without a trace, he’d want to stay as quiet and careful as possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'll finish this, I PROMISE. I'm literally working on finishing all unfinished stories on both here and my website, so just give me a little patience. Because of literally everything that's happened in the last few months, I've been having an ongoing mental breakdown, but she's functional, so do not worry, lol.
> 
> Speaking of things that have happened: Black Lives Matter. Here's a [link](https://blacklivesmatter.com/) to donate. Please do, if you have the means.
> 
> Remember to wash your hands, socially distance, and treat people with kindness. (Hopefully) see you soon, with a new update.
> 
> If you liked this, please check out my [website](https://muldoonstories.com/) for more stories. Also, I just made a [twitter](https://twitter.com/allierowell2/). Cards on the table, it's under a pseudonym because I'm a weirdo, but please talk to me on there ! Promise I'm nicer on there than I am on here, haha.


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